


the care and comfort of your itty bitty, pretty sickly best friend

by againstmygreeleaf



Series: full moon mode [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Animal Death, Attempt at Humor, Fever, Fluff and Crack, Gen, Minor Violence, Platonic Cuddling, Sickfic, This Is STUPID, Vomiting, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-11 09:13:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18427538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/againstmygreeleaf/pseuds/againstmygreeleaf
Summary: The one where Lance doesn't feel well and werewolf!Hunk tries his best.





	the care and comfort of your itty bitty, pretty sickly best friend

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, it's been a bit since I've posted anything...I'm not doing so great right now, really...but anyway, this was almost chapter four in the main fic. I changed my mind and rewrote it because I felt like "oh, I shouldn't switch POV" but then I did that in chapter nine anyway. 
> 
> So I might as well upload this in the meantime.
> 
> On a side note, gobbler = turkey. I'm not sure how common it is to call them gobblers, I used to think it was but maybe it's just something my family does, cause I was talking about them once and my friend had no idea what I was referring to. Then I was like "you know, a gobbler. You eat their legs at the Renaissance Festival," and she was all, "you mean a TURKEY!?" 
> 
> So, yes, yes, that's what I mean. A turkey.

Something is wrong, Hunk can tell.

Lance is normally this bouncy, chatty, energetic thing. Flails his limbs, gives Hunk pets, throws his tire and plays fetch. Tonight he is quiet and he barely moves at all. He only leaves his den to purge his insides, tottering unsteadily on his twiggy legs to heave into the water bowl in the tile room.

Hunk nudges him all over, sniffing, investigating. Lance makes a weak, obstinate sound and tries to shoo him away. Hunk ignores his protests. Silly Lance, Hunk can’t help if he doesn’t let him.

Lance smells wrong. Sour and putrid, like the regurgitation he keeps spewing. He gives a little grunt of protest as Hunk laps critically at his face, evaluating the condition of his flesh. Much warmer than it should be, a febrile, sticky heat. Slick and salty. Actually kind of pleasant tasting in spite of the concerning warmth, so Hunk continues licking even after he’s made his appraisal.

Until Lance whimpers. Hunk halts, immediately pulling back. Lance clutches his midsection with another hurt noise and snaps forward over the water bowl, purging again. Hunk snuffles at the patch of fur atop his head, noting the scraggly, damp texture. This is also wrong. Lance rather enjoys grooming himself (and even gets annoyed when Hunk tries to do it for him).

When through spewing, Lance plants a hand on the rim of the tub and hefts himself up. He starts stumbling back to his den and has a slip up, toppling. Hunk quickly darts forward and Lance thunks back into him before he can hit the floor. Hunk stands steady, letting Lance grasp at his fur, holding tight as he finds his feet.

He’s not usually this uncoordinated. Lance usually has a wayward grace about him, and the slip up is another disconcerting abnormality. Hunk hovers just in case he has another one, following behind as Lance wobbles to his den and flops listlessly onto the mattress.

This is when it clicks for Hunk that Lance isn’t well. He feels all wrong, he smells all wrong, and he’s moving all wrong. Must be ill. Hunk nudges at him some more to ascertain the diagnosis and Lance’s response is just as telling. He’s normally an affectionate thing that can be counted on to reciprocate Hunk’s kinship with hugs, coos, and nice scratches.

Today he receives Hunk’s nudges with little more than a quiet whine, tucking into himself like a little pillbug. This too is very wrong, resolving any uncertainty. This Lance is a sick Lance and Hunk needs to help him.

Okay.

Time to get to work. Hunk gives him a quick, reassuring lap on the cheek and pads into the hall. Lance needs to be kept warm. He has some nesting material already, but it won’t hurt to get him more. Hunk pads to his own den and lightly takes the cover in his teeth, tugging it down.

He trots back to Lance’s room and hops onto the bed, drawing an indignant squeak out of him as his paw stamps down on his thigh. Oops. Sorry, sick Lance. Not a lot of room on this bed. Hunk quickly steps off and jerks his head, the cover seeming to float midair for just a moment before it flutters down over Lance.

Hunk hops down and trots to their shared den in the main space. The cover that rests on the futon is a much lighter one, but it is soft and comfortable. Lance is weak with ailment, he needs all of the softness and comfort right now. So Hunk takes this cover too and hurries back to Lance’s den, cover in his jaws.

He rises up on his hinds to draw the cover over Lance to prevent stepping on him again. Lance pokes his head out from the first cover and accepts the new layer immediately, curling slim fingers around the hem and pulling it around himself the way he likes. Hunk drops back to all fours and nuzzles at his runty friend’s sticky forehead, hoping to reassure him. Lance may not feel well, but he doesn’t need to worry about anything. Hunk will take care of it.

Now that Lance is nestled in and warm, Hunk supposes the next thing to do is to get him some nutrients. He won’t recover if he doesn’t have any nourishing sustenance. Hunk ducks out and makes his way to the door that goes outside.

Usually Lance opens this door for him but Hunk knows he should let him rest. He pushes down his first instinct to scratch for assistance and instead hurries back. When he feels he’s far enough to have a running start, he charges forward and slams the door with all his body weight.

There’s a harsh crack as the thing swings open, hanging askew where it popped off the hinge. An opening plenty big enough to fit through. Pleased, Hunk merrily springs over the steps and sets off into the woods, snout in the air.

Hundreds of interesting smells compete to captivate his interest, teasing his nose in tantalizing traces. Something’s rotting not too far away, ripe and rancid. Hunk is sorely tempted to go roll in it. Another smell is one he doesn’t know, a fragrant pungency this on his tongue. He squashes down the urge to investigate it and instead focuses on separating the scents.

He’s got to find something good for Lance, something nice and hearty that will replenish his strength. Poor, sick Lance purged so much he needs every morsel Hunk can find. He needs to get back all the sustenance he lost.

Hunk prowls, senses sharp, keen to every whiff and hum. He keeps low, trying to blend in so any unsuspecting prey might mistake him for just another dark shadow, another silent patch of night the moon can’t touch. He knows these woods well, but they know him too.

The motion of a snake catches his attention, the leaves disturbed as it slithers by. Snake?

No, too small. Too bony. Lance needs something more robust.

Hunk carries on until he comes across some gobbler scratchings. They aren’t that old. He can discern the freshness of the scent and looser texture of the soil around them. If he finds a roost tree, he could get Lance a gobbler. Gobbler would be good.

Big, solid gobbler. That’s the kind of protein Lance needs.

Hunk adeptly follows the path the scratchings set him on. The scent gradually grows stronger until the air is drenched with it. Hunk pads over telltale feathers and notes the clusters of droppings. He debates rolling in them.

It could possibly help cover his scent, however, it would also make noise. Hunk raises his head, peering at the trees to pick out the gobblers. He studies carefully, realizes he can make out their shapes. None of them appear to be alert. Hunk decides not to roll. Masking his scent won’t matter much if he wakes them up and they take off.

Hunk prefers hunting prey on the ground but he can snatch something out of a tree if he has to. He’s not an adept climber, exactly, but he can manage. Dig his claws into the bark and launch.

It’s extra effort, but effort Hunk is more than willing to put in if it means aiding Lance’s recovery. The longer he’s away from him, the more anxious he is to get back to him. Snatching a gobbler from the tree is probably the fastest way to go here.  
  
If he gets lucky. If he fails, he’ll have to find something else to sustain Lance. Hunk does not intend to fail.

Hunk locks onto a target and charges. He leaps, claws carving the bark as he uses the trunk as a springboard. The gobblers startle awake but Hunk moves with lightning speed. He snaps his jaws around the throat of his choice, just as its wings flutter open.

Hunk clenches his jaws and feels the give of the gobbler’s spine, accompanied by a soft, wet crunch. It hangs slack as Hunk lands heavily on all fours, practiced though not particularly nimble. Satisfied, he lopes back home.

He assesses the weight of the gobbler as it bounces against his chest, appraising it as a hearty choice indeed. It would even make a juicy snack for Hunk, let alone his tiny human friend. This will provide Lance will plenty of strength.

Hunk hops off the bottom step to clear the gap in the cockeyed door, and merrily prances off to Lance’s den. Lance is dosing, bundled in the covers and drooling on his pillow. His drool smells different today, tainted with the sourness of the spew.

Hunk is a bit curious, sort of tempted to lick it. For a moment he stops, unsure about what to do, different options probing at him. He could put the gobbler down and lick Lance’s drool. He could wake Lance up to eat. Or he let Lance rest, but leave the gobbler in reach to eat when he wakes by himself.

He decides to wake Lance to eat. Lance needs food more than rest, most certainly. He’s been ill and purging all day, there’s nothing left to him.

Hunk swings his head up and down, repeatedly knocking the gobbler against Lance’s limp form. Lance jolts awake with a gasp and snaps to a sit. Hunk happily drops the gobbler in his lap.

There, Lance. Eat.

Lance doesn’t eat. He goes rigid, gaping at the gobbler. Poor, sick Lance. Probably delirious, doesn’t know what to do with himself. Hunk gives his cheek an encouraging nuzzle and paws at the gobbler in an attempt to show him.

Then, as if stung by a wasp, Lance bolts right up, gobbler tumbling out of his lap as he rapidly clambers out of bed, hurrying to the tile room on shaky legs. Hunk can hear it when he purges, the ugly splashes of spew slapping the water in the ceramic bowl. The resounding coughing.

Hunk follows and warily peeks his head into the room. Lance is griping the bowl, bent over it and quivering all over. It makes Hunk nervous.

He wedges is way in and goes to comfort him. Licks the messy slops off Lance’s mouth (very sour, unpleasantly so) and snuffles into his shoulder. Lance turns to him, meeting his gaze and looking painfully worn down.

One hand releases the bowl and comes to rest on Hunk’s head. Lance rubs him wearily between the ears and starts speaking. Hunk doesn’t understand what exactly it is that he says, but he does understand that Lance is exhausted.

He hears the drag of fatigue in his tone, the scratch of the sore syllables rolling off a tired tongue. With that, he rises unsteadily and winds around Hunk. Hunk follows him to the food room. Now Lance starts speaking things he does understand, more or less.

He waves an arm at the fallen door, the motion stern and aggravated. “No,” he says, “no” and “bad.” He says some other things too, in between those. His pitch rises with frustration, his posturing conveying clear distress. Hunk lowers his body and tucks his tail between his legs.

He doesn’t understand why Lance is upset. Hunk thought he would be relieved that he’d managed to get it open himself instead of relying on Lance while he’s sick. In any case, the reasoning behind it doesn’t matter. Lance is upset and getting him all riled up in this state is the last thing Hunk wants.

So Hunk defers to him even though he doesn’t understand, cowing and lapping at Lance’s chin apologetically. Lance sighs and steps back from him, head hanging. He rubs at his temples, leaning against the counter for support.

For a long moment he doesn’t look at Hunk but when he does, the anger is gone. All that remains is malaise. He plods back to his den with Hunk on his heels.

Hunk hopes he’ll eat the gobbler and finally get some nourishment. Instead Lance does the most nonsensical thing Hunk has ever witnessed.

Lance yanks his window open and grabs the gobbler by its broken neck, tossing it outside. Hunk gawks, utterly appalled. That’s the last thing he should be doing!

Stupid Lance, don’t you know you need that!?

Instead of doing the reasonable thing and reaching out to retrieve the gobbler, Lance pulls the window shut and climbs back into bed. Hunk tosses his head in ire. He loves his humans, especially Lance, but they’re so ridiculous sometimes.

Honestly, he just threw a perfectly good gobbler out the window. Okay, yeah, so the feathers can be a nuisance to eat around sometimes, but that’s no reason to let the thing go to waste. Especially when Lance clearly needs the protein.

Hunk ruffles, fully prepared to charge right back out and go get the thing. If Lance is too dumb to do what’s best for him, he’ll eat it himself. He climbed a tree to get that gobbler and it’s far from his preferred hunting method.

Hunk turns, huffs, and stomps over the threshold to do just that when a whine from Lance stops him mid-step. Hunk looks back over his shoulder. Lance calls for him, voice weary, arms trembling but held wide open. Hunk hesitates and Lance calls for him again, almost pleading.

Oh, alright.

Hunk retreats into the room and joins Lance on the bed. Lance immediately curls into him, snuggling up and feathering his fingers in Hunk’s fur. Must be cold. Hunk drapes himself over Lance lightly, using his forepaw to tuck him in. He swings his head to nip the cover and pulls it up over the both of them.

It’s not the kind of care he’d expected to give, but Lance settles, and that’s all that matters. 

**Author's Note:**

> Weird thing is, I never used to like sickfics that much. At least, not until I met a special someone who was very fond of them. She more or less got me into them and now I find myself writing them a lot. Makes me feel closer to her.
> 
> I think she'd find it funny if she saw the longest series I've written in years is AU crack. And that thought makes me smile, but my stomach still hurts.


End file.
